Wethern's Law
by fanficology
Summary: In which there is a reason Molly isn't a consulting detective and Sherlock sees an excellent opportunity in her wrong assumption.
1. Chapter 1

Wethern's Law: Assumption is the mother of all screw-ups.

Thanks to the-keeper-of-the-keys for betaing this story.

* * *

"Molly, I have decided it is in John and my best interest to bring our relationship to the next level."

Molly Hooper dropped the tray of sterilized instruments she had just finished organizing at Sherlock's sudden pronouncement. He had come in earlier to collect aortic valves for an experiment. He had been waiting for nearly a month for an appropriate donor body to come in to do his experiment. He was lucky that University College's freezers were under repair and Barts had taken some of their load. Much to Molly's surprise, he didn't leave after collecting his prize like usual instead choosing to conduct his experiment at Barts.

Silence hung in the air as neither of them spoke. Perhaps she only imagined him saying it. Though why on Earth she would imagine him saying that was beyond her. If she was going to imagine Sherlock saying something like that she would imagine him declaring his burning desire for _her _not John. The fact that it was John and not her that he was talking about made her think that she, in fact, did not imagine it.

"I will need your guidance to make sure I proceed appropriately." His voice sounded almost hesitant. Well, hesitant for Sherlock Holmes. That tone in anyone else would sound more than confident. Arrogant even. That's just how Sherlock was. Hide any uncertainty with an extreme amount of confidence so that no one would second guess you.

Molly slowly gathered her now unsterile instruments, cursing the fact that she would have to make up a new tray. Just an extra thirty seconds was all she needed to compose herself. She tried to school her face into something approaching calm and accepting as she turned to face her. In his own Sherlock way he just came out to her. If she was the first person that he did so, she wanted to make sure he knew that she thought that it was _fine_. Most of the time, she was pretty sure her opinion didn't mean much-though he at least did lip service to asking her opinion lately- but she knew that for most people this was a Big Thing. There was no way she was going to take the chances that he would not find it to be so. After spending three years living with him off and on after his faked suicide, Molly came to realize how much Sherlock wanted- no _needed-_ to be accepted. Not by everyone, not even by a lot of people but he needed the handful of people he had chosen to be in his life to accept him, body parts in the fridge and hoarding tendencies and all.

Though, really, she couldn't be blamed for being surprised. Save that one woman several Christmases ago it is not like he showed interest in any woman. Or any man. Or, really, anyone. Honestly, Molly was starting to think that he may be asexual. His sudden pronouncement came a bit out of the blue. In a way, it made sense that Sherlock would chose John. He spent the majority of his time with him and after those years of living with Sherlock Molly was of the opinion that John deserved to be canonized for some of the shit he put up with. John Watson knew Sherlock Holmes better than any person on the planet and Molly was confident the same applied for Sherlock's knowledge of John. That didn't stop the hurt when the tiny flicker of hope she tried to shut away and pretend didn't exist was suddenly and irrevocable snuffed.

Chances were her smile was more nervous than accepting but really that was pretty much par for the course when it came to her interactions with Sherlock. Go for being nonchalant; come out being meek and awkward. Ask most observant man she'd ever met out on a date; he thinks she's wishes to get in touch with her inner barista. Instead of Murphy's Law, Molly had Sherlock's Law. Anything that had the slightest potential to be an awkward encounter with Sherlock will be more than likely become more awkward than you ever anticipated. She had thought that Sherlock's Law had mostly faded away over the years but here it was: back like an unlucky penny.

Sherlock's eyes swept over her lightning quick, the way they always did when he entered a room or first spoke to a person. His face became masklike after deducing her down to her atoms. There was no way he didn't know what she was thinking. There was no way he didn't see the despair in her eyes as she finally realized that she never ever stood a chance with Sherlock Holmes. "I take it you don't agree."

"No!" Molly protested. It was more than fine if he was gay or bi or just John Watson-sexual. Just because he didn't want her the way she wanted him didn't mean she hated him or anything. Sure it would take some time to get over the hurt but really it was fine. In some small way this was good. A very small infinitesimal way. A look so hard for a silver lining you aren't entirely sure if you just imagined it type of way. Of course he eschewed her advances. She'd do the same if a woman made the same advances to her. Though Molly thought she would at least have the courtesy to state her sexual preference so as not to give this theoretical woman hope. Like any woman would be interested her. Molly shook her head as her thought train started to derail. "Of course, I'll help you with John. Why wouldn't I? This is just-news. I mean, wonderful news. Yes, wonderful." She cringed at the shrill laugh she let out. So much for playing it cool. "Just-just let me know what you need help with."

Molly was almost insulted by the stunned look on Sherlock's face at her pronouncement. Did he really think she wouldn't help him? After all she had done for him, did he really think her loyalty would falter because of his sexual preference? She may love him but that was her problem, not his. Just because he wanted to be with someone who wasn't her doesn't mean she would stop being his friend. Revise almost insulted, she _was _insulted.

"I mean it. Questions on dates and relationships and things. I'll help any way I can. I'll have to base it off of my own experience but it should give you a jumping off point, right? Little data is better than no data." Molly suddenly became aware that she had been nodding enthusiastically for the entire time she was talking. Christ, she probably looked like a bizarre bobble head doll.

Sherlock blinked at her. "You are going to help me with John."

It wasn't a question yet it wasn't quite a statement. It almost sounded as if he was testing out the words, contemplating each syllable as he uttered it.

"Of course. Yes, feel free to ask me questions. I'll help, no problem. Oh my is that the time?" She looked at her wrist, knowing that Sherlock would notice she wasn't wearing a watch but not truly caring, "This can wait until later, right? Of course it can. I have post mortems to do. Bit of a back up with University's fridges on the fritz plus our own load. Busy busy! Everyone is just dying to come here." Molly's eyes rounded in horror when she realized what she just said. Of all the jokes she had to make she made _that _one. "Oh God."

Molly ran from the room before something even worse slipped out of her mouth. She'd just make a tech get her another tray

* * *

"Please tell me you asked her and can stop acting like a 15 year old girl," was John's greeting as soon as Sherlock stepped over the doorframe. He glanced up when Sherlock didn't respond to him. Sherlock always replied unless he was in his mind palace and he wouldn't let something like John calling him a 15-year-old girl slide.

Sherlock stood there with a faint expression of disbelief on his face. He opened his mouth before closing it without saying anything. John sat up at the expression. He couldn't remember the last time-or ever really- seeing Sherlock so stunned.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" This was starting to get weird. Did Molly-_Molly Hooper- _actually say no? He'd be baffled and a little bit impressed if she did.

"She thinks I want to date you."

John coughed violently as he choked on his own spit. John gasped comically loud for air after his lung stopped seizing. He finally managed to wheeze out, "How did you ask out a girl and come away with her thinking you're gay?"

Sherlock sat down heavily. "Perhaps she is just not as intelligent as I had believed her to be. I don't see how she could possibly misinterpret what I said. I told her why I was asking her out before warning her that I had not done this before and therefore am in need in guidance."

"Wait. Hold up. What _exactly _did you say? No paraphrasing. Exact words."

Sherlock sighed in annoyance. "I said, 'Molly, I have decided it is in John and my best interest to bring our relationship to the next level.' To which she stared at me in disbelief and stammered something about how she will help me woo you before buggering off!"

Sherlock must be upset if he started to use profanity, no matter how mild. "Sherlock. Think about what you said. Really think." His flat mate looked offended by being told to think. He cut him off before the dark haired man could speak. "Don't say anything, just think it over."

John sat back and watched Sherlock contemplate his words to Molly. He smirked into his cup of tea as realization dawned on Sherlock's face. "Oh."

"There it is." He sat back with his newspaper, content with examining the footie scores. It was always nice to be better at something than Sherlock.

"Damn."

"Yeah. Well done, mate."


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to the-keeper-of-the-key for beta-ing!

Also, thank you so much to those that read, reviewed, favorited, kudos-ed, etc! I am thrilled and more than a little bit shocked at the response that this received. I only hope I don't disappoint. As you may have noticed, this is not marked as completed. There will be a fair number of chapters after this, so please enjoy the ride!

* * *

Molly was well aware that she looked like a wet dog the way she was shaking her head. But when one's friend tricked one into taking a shot of whiskey, certain dignities had to be done away with. She grabbed the shirt of the passing bartender. "Vodka Cran. Please"

"Sweetie, maybe you should stop."

"No," Molly said curtly. "You-you've been ragging on me for weeks. Weeks! About coming out with you guys. Get a life, _Molly_! You're looking like one of your corpses, _Molly_! Are you sure you haven't turned into a vampire, _Molly_? When was the last time you saw the sun, _Molly_?" The finger that was meant to be pointing imperiously at Meena wandered about the more forcefully Molly tried to keep it straight. "Well here I am. Drinking. With you."

"Yeah, but you've had well, a lot." Meena grabbed Molly's hand and eased it back down onto the bar.

"Oh shut up, Meena. Girl's had her heart broken. Let her bitch and get it out. She'll explode otherwise."

Molly turned to Samantha, the room spinning dangerously. She felt too tall, the table and floor suddenly further away than usual. It was as if she wearing a new contact prescription. "Sam, you're my favorite."

"I know. Here. Have another." She slid a shot glass of full of amber liquid across the wood.

Molly eyed the glass suspiciously. "That's whiskey. I'm not falling for that again. Whiskey," she scoffed. "Like paint thinner."

"You have no class, Mols." Sam grabbed the glass she had offered Molly and drank it, throwing her head back as she did so.

"Molly," Meena tried again, "you've had a fair bit to drink already. Not counting what you just ordered. You _do _have to work tomorrow!"

"I'm fine! Remember your 24th? When I had like ten shots plus whatever the hell was in that punch what's his name made? And the next morning I didn't have a hangover and _you_ wanted to harvest my liver for science? I haven't had nearly that much yet. I'm fine!" Molly raised her hand to accept her drink from the bartender.

Meena grabbed Molly's drink after she'd successfully sloshed it onto the polished wood. "You were also ten years younger and a stone heavier."

"I was fat," Molly interrupted, mournfully inspecting one of her chips before popping it in her mouth. They needed more salt.

"Oh shut up, you were not. Also, last time we went out drinking _somebody _called me the next morning promising never to drink again. Who was that, again? Oh, it was you!"

"I'm trying to rebuild my tolerance." Molly huddled around her cranberry and vodka, blowing on the drink as if trying to cool it. She crinkled her nose at that. Why was she blowing on her drink? Oh hell, it's not like it hurt it.

"In one night?" Meena cocked an eyebrow at her. Molly hated when she did that. It was the one talent she wished she had-even more than being able to draw or write- more than anything, being able to cock one eyebrow. It was so sassy.

"I dream big."

Meena rolled her eyes and shared a glance with Sam.

"At least you know where you stand now," Sam suggested after the silence grew too long.

Molly slumped over her drink. She always knew where she stood with Sherlock, she was just the absolute moron who still hoped despite the copious amount of evidence pointing in the opposite direction. Probably a good thing Sherlock was into John. If it was another woman she never would have been able to stop hoping. There would always be that one part that would wish that they would break up and he would realize she was there all along. Damn it, that sound like the plot of a movie. Not only was she sitting in a bar on a Tuesday drinking and moping about a man who would never love her, she was sketching out bad rom-com scenarios in her head.

She really needed to start dating again. "Am I pathetic? It's not like we're dating. Hell, I'm not even sure he thought I was a friend. He always says John's his only friend. I was a friend though, a damn good friend. " Molly straightened and declared, "I'm a damn good friend!"

Even ignoring how she helped him fake his death and all the aid she gave while he was 'dead' she was a good friend. She always lent a sympathetic ear to his rants; assisted him in his experiments, no matter how bizarre; she came over to Baker Street to help him do research for cases when he needed it.

They exchanged texts that were completely unrelated to work. She'd snap random pictures of people on her commute and send them to Sherlock for him to dissect. It helped keep him from becoming too antsy when cases were low or he was stuck in court waiting to testify.

She'd discovered this by accident a couple months after he jumped off of Bart's when she snapped a surreptitious mobile picture of boy on the tube that looked like an 80s era Michael Jackson. She had meant to send it to Sam but hit Sherlock instead. Twenty seconds later she got a long text detailing the man's life history.

She still wasn't entirely sure how he knew he smelled like guava from a text. But as she was pushed forward by people getting off at Farringdon she caught a whiff of him and sure enough he smelled like guava. Sherlock never told her how he did it.

When John was on a date-which was actually quite often, how did one man get so many dates? - and Sherlock was bored (or, as Molly suspected, lonely) they would meet at one of their flats for supper. Where they would have wonderful conversations or eat in companionable silence. Where she so desperately wanted to pretend that they were dating because they just worked so well together. She didn't pretend, though. Mostly because she'd had more romantic meals with Toby. He didn't go on rants while she was trying to watch _Popstar to Operstar. _Though, to be fair to Sherlock, she didn't think she would prefer a meal where he constantly poked her in the side and begged her for food. But also because she couldn't help but think it was a little creepy to pretend they were something they weren't. It sounded like something out of a bad thriller film. _The Pathologist. _Tagline: She can't tell pretend from reality anymore!

She took another chip (they still needed salt), ignoring the buzz of the bar and soothing noises her friends were making. Enough was enough. This would be a night of emotional indulgence, but tomorrow would be the day of a new Molly. Molly 2.0. Or, well, maybe more like Molly 1.0.1 because she had no desire to change anything else about herself, just the mooning over Sherlock bit. Well, she wouldn't mind being a little taller. With larger breasts. And a more pert bum… but the mooning over Sherlock part was attainable. It was unlikely at the age of 32 she was going to grow anymore, surgery sounded painful, and she couldn't be arsed to work out when there was ice cream to eat instead.

Molly started at Sam running a hand up and down her back. She'd forgotten for a moment that she wasn't alone. "Yes, you're a good friend. And you're only pathetic if you dwell on it. Give it some time. You're gonna be fine, just another crush to get over, yeah?"

The straw dug into the roof of Molly's mouth as she attempted to drink and rest her chin on the table. Better write that idea off as a bad job, she thought as she sat up. Perhaps stabbing her ice with her straw would be more effective. "'S not a crush." Stab. " I love the git. With his stupid hair," stab, "and stupid brain," stab, "and stupid face." An ice cube popped out of her cup and landed on the bar.

"And that stupid hat," Meena chimed in.

"And his ridiculous blog," Sam said, chuckling.

"His blog is stupid," Molly agreed.

"Says the girl with the bright pink, kitten covered blog?"

"Leave the kittens alone." Molly grinned as she flicked her straw at Meena, splattering droplets on her glasses. Her smile faded at the edge. "I never stood a chance."

"And we're back to morose drunk," Sam muttered.

"He asked me for advice. _Advice._"

"And we're back to the beginning of the conversation." Meena signaled the bartender to close their tab.

"What sort of advice can I give? I mean _I _know how to date a guy but I don't think wearing a push up bra or making sure to always have pepper spray is going to help him much."

"Can you please tell him to wear a push up bra anyway?" Sam choked out in between laughs.

"I guess instead of shaving his legs I can tell him just to shave really close but I think he does that already. His cheeks are always so smooth looking. I mean _really _what was I thinking?" Molly continued on, ignoring Sam. She'd seen Sherlock in drag before. It wasn't a pretty sight. "I can't give advice! I mean, look: I dated a fucking serial killer who may or may not have been gay. Not to mention Robby who was like a forty-year-old man-child. Or David! I mean really the best thing about him was the fact that he kissed like my brother's dog. The _best _thing. This is all on top of the fact I've been in love with him for about ninety years! And he trusts _me _to give good advice? I can barely manage my own love life!" Molly put her hands on her head as a thought struck her suddenly. "Oh my God. I'm going to doom them with my bad advice. They're going to break up because I said something stupid. They're going to break up and- and crime will spike because they won't be taking cases because they won't be able to stand the sight of each other because my advice will be just that bad and it'll be my fault. What if it's so bad Sherlock relapses? What if he relapses and overdoes? What if he relapses and overdoses and _dies_ because I don't know how to date! Oh my God, I can't do this."

"Jesus, Molly!" Meena exclaimed. "Chill out. I'm sure he won't ask like in depth questions. He'll want to know shit like what presents to buy and where to take him on dates. It's not like he's going to ask how to give a blow job or anything."

Molly's jaw nearly unhinged itself in shock.

"What?"

"What if he asks for sex tips?" Molly asked so loudly, everyone in a two-meter radius stopped their conversations to stare at her. "How the hell do I answer that?"

"Yeah, okay. It's time to go." Sam threw money on the bar and grabbed Molly's elbow.

"What do I say? Should I tell him? Give him a Cosmo?" Molly asked as Sam dragged her through the crowd, Meena pushing at her back.

"Send him to Google."

* * *

"Okay, now, what should you say?"

"I really don't think we need to go over this again, John," Sherlock huffed as he buttoned his coat.

"The last time you asked Molly out she thought you were coming out. So, yeah, I think there's some cause for concern. You don't want her thinking that you're a necrophiliac or some such nonsense this time 'round, do you?" John didn't even look at him, focusing most of his concentration on typing up their latest case for the blog. The sooner Sherlock left the sooner he could concentrate. Besides, he didn't need Sherlock looking over his shoulder while he typed pointing out grammatical errors or offering stylistic choices. He especially didn't need Sherlock to see that he was working on a post that would detail Sherlock's saga of trying to ask Molly Hooper out on a date.

The readers liked to see Sherlock's humanity, his flaws. And what better way than a post dedicated to the fact that, while Sherlock could tell the difference between an absurd amount of tobacco ash, he couldn't manage to properly ask someone out on a date. Not just anyone but a woman who had been head over heels for him for years. John wanted it ready, so when Sherlock came back all he had to do was write the ending and post it. The longer he waited, the higher the chance Sherlock would figure out what he was doing and ruin the fun.

Sherlock heaved a put upon sigh. One would think he was being asked to do something particularly onerous like remember astronomy trivia. It was fascinating that only planet Sherlock seemed to remember anything about was Pluto. A planet that was not even considered a planet anymore. "I am to say, 'Molly, I find it charming that despite your numerous and impressive credentials, you can't seem to understand when I am trying to escalate our relationship. Therefore, allow me to say as bluntly as possible that I wish to take you out on a date in the interest of expanding our relationship from one of friendship to that of intimate partners.' Happy?"

John gaped and blinked at Sherlock who was sitting huddled up on the chair with an indiscernible expression on his face.

"Are you kidding me?"

"Why? Not good?"

"N-not good? Sherlock! You can't just insult her and- What you said-Intimate partn-You sound like a computer. It's all very not good, Sherlock."

"Oh keep your jumper on, I'm not going to say that." Sherlock shot him a mischievous grin as he pulled out his mobile. "I'm going to text her to let her know I'm coming over. Oh, buy more milk while you're at the store today, we're out."

John scowled at his flat mate as he bounded out the door.

"Your mad scientist bacteria experiments aren't funny anymore!" John shouted after him.

"I'm also going to need three liters of bleach," Sherlock replied, his voice growing fainter.

"You can have _one_!"

Really, Molly was more than welcome to have him.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks to the-keeper-of-the-key for beta-ing!

Also, thank you so much to those that read, reviewed, favorited, kudos-ed, etc! I am so happy that you guys are enjoying the ride! Please continue to let me know what you think, I appreciate the time you guys take out to read and write reviews. I hope you continue to enjoy the story!

* * *

It was a truth universally acknowledged that every pathologist in possession of a hangover must be in want of a bacon butty.

Molly was certainly in possession of a hangover and the only thing she wanted more than a bacon butty was to be curled up in her bed, hoping for her stomach to stop lurching and her head to stop aching. Instead she was sitting on her kitchen floor, listening to her microwave chirping, hoping that her latent telekinetic powers would kick in so her butty could be put together without her moving.

So far, no such luck.

"God, Toby, I'm too old for this," she whimpered as the housecat began rubbing himself against her side, hoping his mistress would repay his affection with some of the breakfast meat cooling in the microwave. "I'm never drinking again. Ever."

Molly was pretty certain that if he could, Toby would be giving her look of disbelief. Thankfully he was a cat and above such expressions.

After about five more minutes of attempting to put her sandwich together with her mind, Molly gave it up as a bad job. She was going to have to get up and put it together herself.

Damn it.

Ten minutes later, she had managed to not only construct a lopsided but serviceable butty but also eat half of it. The rest she would have to save for later in the day when she was less likely to vomit on the floor.

She retreated back to her bed (thankfully by walking though she was tempted to crawl) to contemplate whether or not to call in sick. On one hand the idea of holing up in her bed and feeling sorry for herself sounded absolutely fantastic. Maybe she would even go all out and listen to sad music and eat ice cream when her stomach finally stopped lurching. She never took sick days, no one would really complain if she did so now. On the other hand, a part of her was a bit embarrassed that she was wanted to call in ill because she was hungover. She was a thirty two year old member of the Royal College of Pathology, not a lad in his first year of university. She was, again, too old for this.

Molly rolled over and grabbed her mobile in order to read the morning news as she arranged a mental pros and cons list. She blinked at the messages on her phone. Molly rarely had texts on her phone when she woke up. _Please, oh please, tell me I did not drunk text someone, _she thought as she thumbed her security pattern.

Mike Stamford: _Can't come to work. Davey is sick and Mark is in Leeds. Can you put plates 23 and 45 in the thermal cycler when you get in? Thanks!_

Sherlock Holmes: _Need to speak to you about yesterday. Will be in lab at 1.- SH_

Molly grimaced. Suddenly calling off became a lot more complicated. She could easily deflect Mike's request to one of the techs, no problem. Sherlock on the other hand…

If she didn't show up to Barts, chances were Sherlock would just come to her flat. Molly wouldn't say that Sherlock had an open invitation to her flat; more like Sherlock didn't respect personal boundaries and showed up when and where he wanted. Molly wasn't entirely sure if it was the bacon butty not sitting well or the idea of Sherlock showing up to see her moping about the flat and deducing that not only did she stay home because of a hangover but that he was the reason of said hangover. Her feelings for him were no secret, but no need for him to know the extent of her distress. She had her pride.

Besides, after yesterday's horribly awkward conversation, she didn't want to make things any worse. Better to let him think that she was handling this well and was back to her typical, boring, dependable self.

Molly sighed. Might as well choke down some bicarb and paracetamol because she was heading to work. If the fates were kind, hopefully by the time he showed up she will have shaken off most of this hangover.

Thank God she only had paperwork to do. It was generally frowned upon to vomit on corpses.

* * *

Sherlock frowned as he entered the empty lab. It wasn't like Molly not to be here at

this time, especially considering he messaged her earlier. He threw his coat on her desk and scooped up her clipboard, glancing at the first page. She wasn't doing any post-mortems today. Typical of her. She liked to save her backed up paperwork for the end of the work week. Therefore she should be here somewhere. He rapidly flipped through the pages on her clipboard looking for clues. He stopped at the ripped notebook page stuck near the end of the stack.

He eased the page out to examine it more closely. Good heavens, who taught Molly penmanship? He squinted at the page trying to interpret what appeared to be either a list or abstract art. The handwritten notes she had left for him in the past had been untidy but apparently when she was writing for her own eyes it was nearly illegible. Forget encryption, Mycroft should hire Molly to transcribe state secrets. No one would ever be able to decipher it.

He peered closer at the list. _Nod ao do or late? Whee to minimity deketirs? _Was this even English?Perhaps Molly knew a language he wasn't familiar with. He immediately disregarded that idea. If her attempts at singing _Molitva_ were anything to judge by, she lacked a talent for languages. Though her singing voice was pleasant enough for all it was untrained. Much better than John and his bathroom renditions of _Magic Carpet Ride. _

Sherlock looked up as the door to the lab opened. His eyebrows shot up at Molly's appearance. Though she had removed her other protective gear, she had forgotten to remove her plastic booties from her feet. Her face was completely bare of the little make up she normally wore.

Instead of her contacts, she had on her oversized glasses that he found, to his disgust, to be rather attractive. Despite the fact that her employee's badge had a, rather horrid, picture of Molly in her glasses, most people never saw her in them. Perhaps it was the fact that Molly never wore her glasses outside her flat that added an air of intimacy and privacy to her when she did. Even during the times he would seek succor at her flat when he was taking down Moriarty's network he only saw her wear them a handful of times. If she was wearing her glasses now that meant she tore a contact or her eyes were irritated. He frowned as he took in the rest of her. Heavy bags under her eyes spoke to a late night out. Unusual. Molly wasn't much for going out to pubs, preferring the intimacy of socializing at her friends' flats. Even when she did go out to socialize, it was never during the workweek.

"Sherlock!" Molly greeted in surprise. "You're early!"

Interesting. A bit of brown sauce lingered at the corner of her mouth. Brown sauce this early in the morning suggested a bacon sandwich. Molly never had bacon sandwiches for breakfast, preferring much lighter repasts, unless she over imbibed the night before and was battling a hangover. Ah. Bare face, irritated eyes, bags under her eyes, and a bacon sandwich. Molly went on quite a bender last night resulting in her current hangover.

The only question now was why. His mind raced through possibilities before dismissing the reason as trivial. He had more important things to focus his attention on at the moment. Perhaps later he'll deduce the reasoning behind Molly's inebriation.

Sherlock flashed his most charming grin he had in his arsenal. "Molly, just the person I was looking for."

"Did you look through my stuff?" Molly asked, eyes riveted to the clipboard in his hands.

The smile dropped off his face. Not the direction he wanted this conversation to take. Molly, and John come to think of it, was oddly possessive of items she thought to be 'hers.' "Yes, wanted to see if anything interesting came in."

Honestly, Sherlock did not expect what happened next. Usually when he looked through Molly's personal things she became flustered and protested weakly as if she were a kitten attempting to be a lion. She did not usually rush forward to rip whatever possession he had out of his hands as she did with the clipboard. Sherlock hissed involuntarily as the wood scratched his hands at her movement.

"You weren't supposed to see this! It's not ready yet," Molly fussed, completely ignoring Sherlock compulsively clenching his fists. He felt the need to make sure his hands were in complete working order after their brush with injury.

Assured of his hands' welfare, he looked up at Molly. "Molly, your penmanship would baffle a graphologist, let alone me. Rest assured I have no idea what," he peered at the paper, holding the clipboard down to prevent her from hiding it, "Zohni jeridty is."

"'Zohni jeridty?' What?" Molly furrowed her nose.

Sherlock pointed at where 'zohni jeridty'was on the page, underlined twice and circled numerous times. "That."

"That does _not _say 'zohni jeridty!'" Molly protested, disbelief in her voice. "It says 'John's sexuality!'" Molly's eyes widened as she realized what she just blurted it out.

Sherlock blinked at her slowly pinkening countenance before looking back at the paper. "That's a 's'? Not an 'i'?"

"Yes, it is."

"And that's a 'j'?"

"Obviously," Molly said through gritted teeth, her earlier embarrassment fading into annoyance as she defended her penmanship.

"How?" Sherlock supposed he could see where the apostrophe migrated above the s to form what he thought was an i but how her j became a z and sexuality became jeridty was beyond him.

"I have very stylish handwriting." Molly shoved the list under the rest of her papers.

"You should seriously consider making a permanent switch to print. Your joined-up writing is a crime."

"Oh, like yours is any better!" Molly muttered not quite under her breath as she brushed past him to her desk.

Sherlock magnanimously chose to ignore her slight as he turned to face her. "What sort of list has 'John's sexuality' on it? Underlined and circled, no less."

Molly averted her eyes as she wrung her hands. "It's just a list of-of things to talk to you about."

"Ah," Sherlock said. "You created a list of reasons why John and I would not make a good couple."

It was a little out of character for Molly to create such a list; she was usually so supportive of all, well perhaps not all if one took into account the noodle incident, of his endeavors. However, he couldn't find himself to be annoyed in the least. After all, he didn't want Molly to think he fancied John. Her believing he fancied John did not work in his favor at all.

"No!" Molly's eyes flew up to meet his as she protested vehemently. "I wouldn't do that! It's a list of things that I, it's not to dissuade," she took a deep breath before starting over. "It's a list of things you need to know and consider if you want to date John or well anyone. Like I've only ever heard him talk about dating women and- and I don't want you to get your hopes up only to find it out it won't ever happen."

Sherlock had to strain to hear the last sentence.

Her voice was a little stronger as she continued, "I've never heard him talk about fancying blokes. I just want to make sure you're okay with that before you ask him out. He may say no and you need to be, well, not okay with that because you probably won't be okay with it. But you need to be prepared that he may not want to date you and that there's really nothing you can do to change his mind. I hope he says yes and it works out but you should well," she threw her hands up in the air and shook her head, the way she so often did when her words did not come out the way she had hoped, "be prepared."

He nodded his head slowly. That certainly sounded more in line with the Molly who risked her job and life to shelter to him and could always be counted on. He was a bit surprised at the urge he had to pull her to him and hold her close. Only she would be big hearted enough to not only do her best to support a man she fancied to date another but make a list in order to help him succeed. An idea struck him. A list of things to know before dating someone? "What other things are on this list?"

"Oh! Um," Molly flipped to her list. "Just some more generic things. Like: what not to do on dates; who should pay and when; when to minimize deductions; things to make sure not to delete like anniversaries and birthdays. Nothing too out there; mostly helpful hints, guidelines, and the like. I figure if you're going to date, might as well do it right, yeah? I've dated a fair amount and some things are universal no-nos, regardless of who's on the date. Like talking about your exs the entire time." Molly let out a soft laugh and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Though that probably won't be a problem in your case, now would it?"

Sherlock hummed noncommittally. His mind was racing with the possibilities that came with this information. He was well aware of his lack of experience with almost all social situations, something he was more than comfortable with. But here Molly was offering explicit advice on how to be successful partner. It would not do to enter into a relationship with Molly only to have it fall apart because of his ignorance. Oh. This had potential.

"So, um, what did you want to talk about exactly?" Molly asked.

Sherlock blinked at her as she drew him back to the conversation. "What?"

"Your text said you wanted to talk to me?" Her voice was hesitant, as if concerned she got the message wrong.

"Oh, that. I wanted to take you up on your offer of help me with John."

Molly turned her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye. She looked eerily like a mother trying to decide whether or not to call her child out on a lie. "Sher-"

"I was thinking coffee," he cut her off with a wide grin. She had an annoying habit of seeing the subtext he thought he kept so carefully hidden. "But I am not sure coffee is the right thing for someone with an upset stomach. Perhaps a hot chocolate instead? Tea?"

Molly blinked owlishly at him. Perhaps the smile he used while shamming was a bit too much. "I-I'm a bit busy right now, Sherlock and I already took lunch."

"Tomorrow?" He toned down the smile to something more natural. She relaxed slightly at the expression. Sherlock felt a tinge of annoyance that his acting unnerved her so. He didn't like that his last line of defense was useless.

"Okay. Usual Costa?"

He nodded decisively. "I'll text you the time."

* * *

"Everything sorted?"

Sherlock was sitting in his chair, hands folded under his chin as he stared out into space.

"Sherlock?" John asked again, setting the groceries down on the table.

"Hmm?"

"I asked if everything was sorted." He glanced at Sherlock again. "With Molly?"

"No," Sherlock said absentmindedly.

John dropped the head of cabbage on the table. "What did you do?"

Sherlock hopped up from his chair to head into the kitchen. "Change of plans. I have a better idea."

"You don't want to date Molly anymore?" He asked slowly. It wasn't like Sherlock to give up so suddenly on something he wanted and up until this morning, he had wanted to date Molly.

"Of course I do. Don't be thick, John. I just have a better way of going about it."

"Oh, Jesus. Do I want to know?" God only knows what Sherlock Holmes would think was a better way to go about dating a girl. Probably take her to a crime scene and berate her for not seeing that clearly the victim's fringe meant that she was a horrible flutist.

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, thinking it over. "You probably don't want to, but I'm going to tell you anyway. I'll need your assistance." He pawed around the shopping before pulling out the liter of bleach from the bag. "I asked for three."

"Well, you only got one."

Sherlock scowled at the container as he inspected it. "You got oxygen bleach."

"So?" John asked, moving the ears into crisper to make room for the milk.

"I need chlorine bleach."

"Shops are still open, you're welcome to get it yourself." John hip checked the refrigerator door. "Now, what is your brilliant plan?"

"For the bleach?"

John sighed before answering in exasperation, "For Molly."

"Ah, that! Molly has offered to assist me in my dating and relationship. She wants to make sure that our relationship is a success. She is worried I'll ruin things. Quite rightly, in retrospect as I have never been in a relationship before. I've decided to take her up on this offer." Sherlock gave his flat mate a self-satisfied smile.

"To give you dating advice?" John asked, drawing out the words, mulling them over. "You want her to tell you how to be a good boyfriend?"

"Yes! Exactly! Don't you see? No, of course you don't, don't answer that. Molly will give me advice on dating and relationship based on _her _experience. If she thinks I am using her advice to date you, she'll be even more open about what she wants in a boyfriend."

John stared at his flatmate. "I think you've gone round the bend, mate. Just tell her that she misunderstood and you want to take her out. You two will have a laugh and it'll be done!"

Sherlock looked off into the distance as if contemplating John's advice before shaking his head. "No, this will be much better."

"This is going to bite you in the arse, Sherlock."

"You know, I think I still have some sodium hypochlorite in the salt shaker, maybe I'll just make my own bleach," Sherlock said thoughtfully as he wandered towards his room, completely ignoring the doctor's warning.

"You have _what_ in the salt shaker?"


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to the-keeper-of-the-key for beta-ing!

Also, thank you so much to those that read, reviewed, favorited, kudos-ed, etc! I am so happy that you guys are enjoying the ride! Please continue to let me know what you think, I appreciate the time you guys take out to read and write reviews. I hope you continue to enjoy the story! This is a short chapter but I thought it would be better to split the chapter to keep it from getting clunky. Things should pick up much more after this. Hopefully, I'll be able to update faster.

* * *

_"Last night I held Aladdin's lamp and I so wished that I could stay before the thing could answer me, someone came and took the lamp away! I looked all around, a lousy candle's all I found!"_

Sherlock growled in annoyance as he buttoned up his shirt. Again John was singing that blasted song. At least he finally learned the rest of the lyrics and he didn't have suffer through a course of la la las. If Sherlock found himself humming the refrain one more time he would have to take drastic measures. Possibly hide his condoms in the biscuit tin again. If timed correctly, John won't notice until Mrs. Hudson dropped off more biscuits, thus submitting him to a soliloquy on how happy she was the John was being responsible with his parade of girlfriends and how things were like in _her _day. Sherlock made a mental note to be out of the flat before Mrs. Hudson retold the story of how she lost her virginity. Once was quite enough, thank you very much. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't delete that uncomfortable teatime. The only shining spot was that Mycroft and John had to suffer also.

"_I like to dream!"_

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he banged on the door. "If you _must _subject the neighborhood to your caterwauling could you at least vary your repertoire?"

At last. Silence. Why on earth would one want to sing in the shower was beyond him. Especially when one sounded like a cat in heat.

Sherlock shrugged on his suit jacket when he heard John start up again. "_She said she'd take me anywhere, she'd take me anywhere as long as she stays with me! Kiss, kiss Molly's lips! Kiss, kiss Molly's lips!"_

John never was one for subtly. He was of the break down the door school of thought rather than the more delicate one of pick the lock. It was with no regret that Sherlock flicked off the lights in the bathroom before leaving. He deserved it after all.

* * *

Meena: _How's it going?_

Molly took a sip of her flat white before answering. She had arrived at their Costa well before the appointed time. Nerves, probably, she thought. That and the increased likelihood of getting a seat. She hadn't been this nervous around Sherlock in ages. Once one live with someone on and off for several years, one tended to lose most nerves. Molly took a deep, calming breath and tried to still her rapidly tapping foot. It was truly ridiculous on how anxious she was feeling about this meeting. It should be no different then giving any one of her other friends advice, she told herself.

Except none of her other friends had the social skills of a five year old.

Molly tapped out a reply: _Not here yet_

Well into her second drink, Molly realized that not only was it possible that she might actually have a caffeine problem but also that Sherlock was now ten minutes late. Which wasn't uncommon for him. She just hoped that he would remember to text this time if a case or experiment came up so she wasn't stuck in the coffee shop alone, pretending to act casual and unconcerned as she waited for him.

Her phone buzzed.

Meena: _Emphasize timeliness. _

Molly rolled her eyes. Meena was enjoying this way too much. She had already told Molly that she was coming over that night to hear all about it.

_Duly noted. Get back to work!_

She shifted in her seat trying to get comfortable. She was tempted to kick off her shoes and sit on her feet but there was something about putting her bare feet on a chair that was probably last cleaned when Thatcher was prime minister that gave her pause.

Molly caught sight of an older man passing her carrying a toastie on a tray out of the corner of her eye. Molly followed him with her eyes as he made his way to a table. Maybe she should get something to eat while she was waiting. Saliva filled her mouth as she thought about the toastie. She could almost taste the crisp toasted bread against her tongue as she bit into it. The soft, hot cheese. The salty ham. She forgot to eat breakfast this morning in her rush to get out of the flat and now she was starting to feel the effects. Oh yes, a toastie seemed like a brilliant idea right now. As soon as Sherlock showed up she was going to indulge.

"Looks good doesn't it?" came a voice from behind her.

Molly jumped. She turned around, just barely avoiding upsetting the rest of her drink.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!" The man grinned at her, his hazel eyes twinkling. He gestured at the chair next to her where she had thrown her handbag and coat. "Is this seat taken?"

"No. I mean yes! My friend is coming, he's just late." Molly's mind raced. Did she want to chat with this man? He looked nice. But Jim also looked nice. Was he real nice or fake I'm going to kill your friends nice? She just couldn't tell anymore. Though what were the chances? Probably low. What if she told him to leave and Sherlock never showed and she lost her chance with a potentially nice man?

Molly grabbed her belonging and pulled them onto her lap. "Have a seat. If you want, I mean."

"Name's Doug," he said with a smile.

"Molly."

* * *

Sherlock hopped out of his cab a block from his destination. The traffic was obscene and there was no way he was going to stay in a cab when he could get there faster by walking. Maybe there was something to be said about taking the tube when he decided to journey out to Clapham to visit Molly, especially at this time. It was clearly Molly's fault for living so far away and taking her days off not on the weekend like normal people but on Thursday and Friday,

Sherlock bounced on his toes at the street corner, waiting for the crosswalk signal to change. Usually he disregarded such mundane pedestrian crossings but the road was too busy to attempt a mad dash. Molly, not to mention John and Mrs. Hudson, would be quite cross if he was struck by a lorry. Sometimes it was better to just humor society and follow the pedestrian signals.

After a light that was red for far too long, he had to wonder if Mycroft maybe had something to do with it, Sherlock dashed across the street, nearly knocking people out of the way. He was just a few shops from his goal. He disliked tardiness without a valid reason. Cases were valid reasons; experiments were valid reasons; idiotic drivers were not.

He slowed to a walk right before the Costa that has been designated as 'theirs.' It was a place that Molly had patroned quite frequently amount after abandoning the Starbucks several blocks away. It made an ideal meeting place for her and one of Mycroft's lackeys during the time he was dismantling Moriarty's network. It worked so nicely that he started using it as a meeting point for when he would drop back into London. Molly's building security, while no where near insurmountable, was quite annoying to deal with subtly, especially when he was tired. It was easier to just meet Molly on her way home or to work to pick up her security fob to let him in.

He paused to straighten his coat before entering the shop. No need to let Molly know that he was rushing. Privately, he wasn't entirely sure she would notice. She, like John, had a habit of missing the obvious though, unlike John, she also had a tendency to see right through him at the most inopportune times.

He stopped in his tracks. Molly was chatting, no _flirting, _with some bloke. His eyes narrowed as he took in her companion. Thirty-nine years old. Slightly hunched position suggests computer work. A programmer by the marks on his palms. He spent a lot of time clenching his fists when his code failed. His shoes though were those commonly worn by hospital employees. A programmer in a hospital? How mind numbingly dull.

Molly looked up at his approach, her eyes lighting up as she smiled. "Sherlock!"

"Traffic was a mess," he greeted, completely ignoring Molly's companion. "Ended up walking the last block instead of listening to the cabbie's idea of music."

Molly rolled her eyes at his sneer. "You think most music composed after the 19th century is horrible."

"I can't help being right all the time," he paused for a second. "Even if I wanted to." The man had begun to shift uncomfortably the moment he appeared on the scene. Perfect. "Oh, I didn't notice your companion." Sherlock smiled insincerely at the man, his eyes cold.

"Oh, I-I was just leaving. Nice to uh meet you Molly." He gathered up his coat and scurried away. Sherlock rolled his eyes. No wonder the man was still single with a penchant for lesbian pornography if this was his tactic at courting.

No matter, it was exactly what he wanted to accomplish though he had to admit, he was hoping for a little more of a challenge.

Sherlock flopped down in the chair, taking in Molly's amused expression.

"Good job scaring him away," she remarked drily, finishing off her flat white. A flat white this early in the morning meant she already had ristretto. She was quite possibly the only person he knew that drank as much caffeine as he did. "I didn't even get his number."

"Problem?"

Molly shrugged, setting her empty mug down. "Not really. He seemed sort of bland to be honest. But most biostatisticians I know are. I think it's all the software."

"A biostatistician? Not a programmer?"

"That's what he said. Works for King's."

Sherlock pursed his lips in annoyance. Always something.

"I was going to get you something to drink but since you have a tendency to be late…well, I didn't. By the way, don't be late on dates. Especially first ones, it's not good for anyone involved."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Obvious. If this was the type of advice she was going to be dispensing he might as well put a stop to the whole thing and ask her out again. No use wasting his time.

Molly sighed as she stood from her chair.

"Where are you going?" Was she leaving? He wasn't that late and she didn't seem too put out about the departure of the biostatistician.

"I'm hungry. Want anything?"

"Just coffee. Here," he said, shifting to pull his wallet out. "Use my card."

"I can get it," she protested as he held out his card for her to grab

"Think of it as an apology for being late." He held her gaze.

After a minute or so, Molly sighed. "Fine. It's best just to humor you sometimes, you want anything else?"

"No." He picked up his mobile to check his e-mail. Hopefully one of his orders would have shipped by now, he needed another 40x objective.

"Oh, did you already have breakfast?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"Are you on a case?"

Sherlock looked up from his phone and blinked at her. "Of course not. I'm here, aren't I?" If he had a case he would have cancelled. Molly knew that, why was she asking?

"Working on an experiment?" She persisted.

"Not presently." He was still waiting for an appropriate donor pancreas to continue his insulin experiment.

"Right, I'm getting you a Panini."

"I'm not-"

"Don't complain or I'm throwing in a muffin for you to eat also," she said over her shoulder as she made her way to the till.

Sherlock glowered at her ineffectively. "You're not my landlady," he called after her.

Molly waved her hand to shush him as she placed her order.

He was starting to regret this decision.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to crown-and-key for beta-ing!

I am so sorry about the delay. This chapter did NOT want to be written in any acceptable manner. To those (both new and old!) that read, reviewed, favorited, kudos-ed, etc you guys are awesome! I am so happy that you guys are enjoying the ride! Please continue to let me know what you think. Reviews and sharing your thoughts really do spur me into writing and I appreciate the time you guys take to write reviews. I hope the story lives up to your expectations.

* * *

"So, why me?" Molly asked after swallowing a bit of toastie. It was just as good as it looked on that bloke's plate. Definitely worth the wait.

"Pardon?" Sherlock looked up from where he was examining the components of his Panini. Molly rolled her eyes. He always faced his food as if it was a puzzle to be disassembled. She wasn't sure what his Panini did to deserve to be disarticulated so. After living with him off and on over the past few years, she was well aware of what he did and did not like and there was nothing on it that he didn't like.

"Why did you ask me for help with John? Why not someone else?"

"Who would I ask?" Sherlock questioned, still intent on deducing all of the mozzarella's secrets, leaning forward to take a loud sniff. Molly looked around, hoping that no one else noticed.

"You could talk to Greg about it. I'm sure he has plenty of knowledge. He's dating again, you know."

Sherlock waved his hand. "Obvious by the way he has started to darken his hair. He wishes to appear younger."

"I've noticed that." Molly nodded. "I don't know why he's doing it, though. His hair looked much more fetching the way it was. He can really pull off gray hair." Molly shifted under Sherlock's sudden sharp stare. "What? I'm not blind! Greg is quite the looker! Surely, you've noticed."

"Lestrade's attractiveness has never been a subject of much thought."

"Really?" Molly asked, leaning forward. "I'm pretty sure everyone is half in love with Greg Lestrade. I mean Mike's been with Mark for fifteen years and I still see him checking out Greg's bum every time he walks in."

Sherlock blinked. He looked a bit disturbed by this line of conversation. "I can't say I've paid too much attention to Mike's fascination with Lestrade's backside."

"He's got a nice bum. Greg, I mean. Not Mike. I've never noticed Mike's bum to be honest." She took another bite of her toastie. She quickly swallowed and said, "You should take a look next time you see him. You'll see what I mean."

Sherlock's mouth dropped open in revulsion. "I am _not _going to ogle Lestrade's backside the next time I see him."

Molly shrugged. "Your loss. I guess you're more inclined to look at John's. Oh come off it," she said, noticing his petulant expression. "What's the point of being friends if I can't occasionally take the mick out?"

"This is very unhelpful, Molly."

"Finish your lunch, then we'll chat."

* * *

This was the most disturbing conversation he had ever had with Molly, he thought as he examined his food. (The mozzarella was yellowish due to the grass the cow was fed. Slightly too salty. Not milky like good mozzarella should be. To be expected considering the source. ) Their short exchange on Christmas some years back was uncomfortable but not disturbing.

It was even more disturbing when he took into account that it made him wonder if Molly found his own backside attractive. Though that was not as disturbing as the thought that perhaps she preferred Lestrade's to his own. The idea of feeling even a slightest twinge of jealousy over Lestrade's backside was extremely disconcerting. After all, it was all just transport.

Though, he thought as Molly stretched her arms over her head revealing a bit of her hip and making her breasts more prominent, there is a possibility he may have been wrong in that respect.

"Okay, I have to know," Molly said suddenly, slumping out of her stretch. "After all these years of speculation and crap, what made you decide to make a move?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh come on! There has been talk about you two for ages! John's always denied it and you, well, you've never said anything one way or another so we all just assumed you were oblivious or some such. But here you are, wanting to date John and I want to know why. Was the last girlfriend one too many? Did he get hurt on a case recently and you realized the true depth of your feelings?" She asked, her tone tinged with mockery.

Sherlock sighed as he closed his eyes. He should have seen this coming. Molly, like many of her sex, was afflicted with the desire to know every little detail about her friends' romantic lives. How often was he bored close to tears in her flat as she asked and prodded her friends about their dates and love lives? She would pace around her flat, giggling and gasping into her mobile at her friend's flourishing or flailing romantic interludes.

Once, when he had to have his jaw wired shut for several weeks after a fistfight that went south, she even recounted one of Sissi's (or was it Shirley? Susan?) break ups to him in excruciatingly mind-numbing detail.

It was revenge on him for nearly killing the plant she received after her father's funeral by studying the effects of watering it with varying amounts of salt water. He managed to revive it and thought that her form of vengeance was disproportionate to the crime. He had no way to protest her inane chatter besides moaning and whimpering in displeasure as he clasped his hands over his ears in an ill-fated attempt at keeping her chatter at bay. She was ruthless, almost sadistic, in her revenge as she would pin his hands down and recall every single one of Sybil's (Sabrina? Shauna?) beau's transgressions. Though she did quite make up for it by concocting a variety of recipes for him to consume while injured so he wasn't regulated to just sweets.

"I won't bore you with the details-" Sherlock did his best to cover up his smirk at her disappointed face "-all I'll say is that it become apparent to me that if I did not pursue a relationship, my friendship with John would be in jeopardy. Since losing John is not an option, the only logical choice was to attempt a relationship."

There. Not only was it vague but it also had the bonus of actually being true. John had made it abundantly clear that if he didn't 'just ask her out for fuck's sake! I can't live with you like this! It's like living with a teenage Harry all over again!' that there would be a serious strain on their friendship due to 'excessive twat-iness.'

Molly's nose scrunched the way it did when she was extremely put out with him. "That's it? That's not romantic even by your standards."

"I never said it was," he said, trying to cover his annoyance. While it was true he really didn't _do _romance or romantic gestures, Sherlock had to admit he had hoped for something besides disdain.

"That's very true." Molly averted her gaze picked at the crust of her toastie. She worried her lip for a minute before continuing to speak. "Sherlock, you're not just doing this because it is convenient, right?"

"What do you mean?"

She rubbed her eyes with the palms as she spoke. "You said that you'll lose John's friendship if you don't date him. But you didn't say that you wanted to date John or that you loved him or anything like that. If you date John because it's convenient, chances are it'll end badly. Very badly. I know you don't like sentiment, Sherlock but-"

"It's not for the sake of convenience," Sherlock cut in. "This is actually quite inconvenient, having to seek advice; being unsure of what to do next; the possibility of unrequited…affections. The strain between John and I is merely the catalyst."

"Okay. Good. That's good." Molly's cheerful smile was strained. "Well then, do you have questions for me or should I just start rattling stuff off?"

"The latter. If I have questions, I'll interrupt."

"Oh, I'm sure," Molly said in a knowing voice. She took a deep breath as if steeling herself. "Okay, first off we need to see if John reciprocates. Because I'll tell you right now that if he doesn't, it may be hard to change his mind. Also, we don't want to put the cart before the horse."

Sherlock was a bit surprised at the change in Molly's attitude. She sounded more like a general explaining a military maneuver than St. Bartholomew's pathologist.

"Now if you were one of my girlfriends I would give you a lovely talk about how you're a prize and-"

"I'm not a prize?" Sherlock cut in, bemused.

Molly shot him a dirty look. "If I went down that road you would flounce out of here because you would think I was being condescending."

Sherlock straightened. "I do not _flounce."_

"As I was saying," Molly ground out undaunted. "After the talk I would be realistic about your chances. I'm telling you right now that it doesn't look good. John has always been very adamant about not being gay. Which, I'm sorry to say I am inclined to agree if any of the talk around Barts is to be believed."

"What talk?"

"The usual. About how he's a bit of a skirt chaser and apparently very, very enthusiastic when it comes to, uh, pleasing a woman in bed. I think the last bit came from Nora. The one with the nose." Molly mimed having a large nose at Sherlock's look of confusion. "Though just because he's good in bed with women doesn't mean that he's not bisexual. Don't worry, together we'll be able to ferret it out without him knowing."

Sherlock stared at her. "You can do that?"

"Please, Sherlock. While you were off at Eton or Harrow-"

"St Paul's," Sherlock corrected.

"-Being posh and all, this is what I did during secondary and sixth form, figuring out if people liked my friends. Just bring him about the lab more often and we'll figure it out. I'll also see if I can get Mike to talk about their St. Bart's days-"

"That'll be tedious, you'll never get him to shut up."

Molly huffed. "Like I don't have experience with people who don't shut up."

Sherlock smirked.

"Prat," she muttered as she picked up her mug to finish her drink off. "Now, I don't want to get your hopes up but do you have any ideas on what you want to do if he does say yes?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "That is the reason I am asking for advice Molly."

"You-you don't have any ideas? At _all?" _

"Not really," Sherlock said slowly.

All of his brainstorming when it came to dates was done with Molly in mind. He was loath to offer up his few acceptable date ideas up.

Sherlock had already discarded the idea of a dinner and a film. Not only was it cliché and dull, movies rarely held his attention. His enjoyment of movies increased exponentially when he could discuss it with someone or point out mistakes, something frowned upon by cinema goers (and John).

A museum had a possibility, depending upon the museum. He enjoyed some art and natural history was usually a good show, as long as the exhibits were up to date. Nothing was more annoying than an incomplete exhibit.

His favorite at the moment was the idea of a ghost walk in the East End. Though he scoffed at the idea of ghosts, most preternatural experiences can easily be debunked by science, Molly was fascinated by the supernatural. Based on the sentimental notes scribbled on the inside of the covers of the few books she owned regarding spiritual beings, it was an interest passed down by her mother and a way Molly had of remembering her. Despite his own distaste of the supernatural some of the supposed hauntings were based on very real unsolved murders, something he always enjoyed. Many of the tour guides were aspiring or former thespians and Sherlock always had a fondness for drama and theater. It would be a nice balance between something he and Molly enjoyed. Walking around the city he loved with Molly would just be an added bonus.

"Well, I'm not going to plan your dates for you, Sherlock. I'll tell you if the idea isn't any good or I'll, like, talk it through with you but that's about it."

"Fine," Sherlock agreed. No need to have her plan a date for them at the moment, he wanted to show her that he can do this bit without her help. Though he had to admit that he was unsure of what constituted a date. His Internet search was unhelpful in providing concrete parameters. Apparently there were as many definitions and nuances to the term 'date' as there were religions. It was truly amazing, the amount of time average people devoted to sentiment and obtaining a sexual partner. Exhausting almost. "What would you consider a date?"

Molly blinked at him.

"From what I've researched, people have different ideas as to what is or is not a date. I would like your opinion," Sherlock elaborated after Molly continued to stare at him.

"Oh. Well. That's a bit tricky. Let's see," Molly muttered as she thought. "Well, first off both parties have to _know _it's a date. I went to a film when I was in sixth form with a group of friends and the bloke I sat next to thought it was a date. Told everyone we were dating for the next two weeks." Molly shot him a look of remembered disbelief, as if after all these years that event still baffled her. "So both people definitely want to be there. I like it when the date is set up a day or two in advance. A lot of last minute dates tend to make me think that the guy had nothing better to do. Though that's more in the early part of a relationship. Hanging out at the last minute is one thing but a date is supposed to be more…special, I guess? If that make any sense?"

Sherlock nodded. He supposed there was a certain amount of logic to that. Perhaps. He'd have to mull it over.

"Everyone is going to think of dates a little differently so I guess the most important parts of a date is that both people know it's a date and that both people want to be there because they want, or at least _think _they want, to be in a relationship with each other. Wait, I don't know if that last part made sense," Molly trailed off.

"You are saying that there should be a reciprocated feelings, or the possibility of reciprocated feelings, of sentiment from both people involved, correct?"

"Yes," Molly agreed. "Exactly."

"And if it's not reciprocated?"

Molly looked at the mug nestled between her hands as she quietly replied, "Then you have to be grateful for the friendship that you have because it's better than nothing. And-and you tell yourself that you want him to be happy, even if that means he's with someone else." She pursed her lips and gave him a weak smile. "Let's continue, okay?"

* * *

Molly kicked off her shoes and tossed her keys on the side table before collapsing on her sofa with a groan. Toby trotted into the room, trilling as he did, happy that she had returned.

It had gone well, all in all. She thought she doled out some good advice and Sherlock was remarkably attentive to it.

The day could have been counted as a win if it wasn't for the little hiccup of Sherlock asking what to do if someone doesn't want to date you. That hit a little too close to home for her liking. Hopefully, she didn't make her feelings too obvious.

Oh, who was she kidding? Sherlock could tell the state of someone's marriage from his or her jewelry, there was no way he would have missed her blatant pining. Molly knew that getting over Sherlock Holmes would not be easy. If it was, she would have moved on _ages _ago. The pathologist had just hoped that she would be able to do so with some grace. Maybe once she safely midwifed Sherlock and John's relationship she would be able to move on. Nothing like seeing the man she loved (because no way was she this hung up on just a crush) in a happy relationship with his roommate to push her into put her own feelings behind her.

She let out a little huff as Toby jumped on her stomach and immediately began to knead her shirt. Molly rubbed his ear as he purred. "Maybe he didn't notice, Toby. John did say he can be spectacularly ignorant." Toby leaned into her palm, content with her affection.

Nice to know that Toby agreed with her.

* * *

"Have you ever slept with or dated a man?"

John rolled onto his back and blinked blearily at Sherlock. This had to be the fever talking. "What?"

Sherlock sighed dramatically. "Have you ever slept with or dated a man? Specifically during your training at Barts?"

Maybe it wasn't the fever. "No, I've never fancied blokes. Why?"

"That's inconvenient. You're going to have to return my flirtations than."

What? "What?"

"Molly is withholding advice because she believes it is putting the cart before the horse. Next time we are around Molly, you need to pretend to be open to my advances and the idea of a homosexual relationship, understand?"

Well, it certainly wasn't the weirdest thing he'd ever done for Sherlock. "So you want me to flirt with you?"

"Yes but subtly, John. Molly isn't an idiot; she'll be suspicious if you suddenly moon over me like you do any woman in a skirt suit."

"Do you even know how to recognize flirting, Sherlock?" Flashbacks of Molly trying to gain an oblivious Sherlock's attention, mixed in with Moriarty and Irene Adler attempting to do the same ran rampant in his head.

"Of course, I do."

John raised his eyebrows. Oh, that just made his headache worse. Maybe he shouldn't do that. "Do you really?"

"Yes," Sherlock ground out, turning to leave.

"Sherlock. How you doin'?" John slurred as he attempted to mimic an American accent.

Sherlock's brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm fine, why?"

"Flirting, Sherlock." If Sherlock couldn't even recognize a parody of flirtation, he was going to need lessons.

"Why any woman wants to date you is beyond me."

"The feeling is mutual," John called out after him.


End file.
